In a displacement camp in Al Mawasi, southern Gaza, strands of handmade lanterns sway gently between rows of tents.
They are not made of glass or brass, nor are they imported from factories abroad. They are crafted from empty soda bottles, cut, shaped and painted by seven young men who refused to let Ramadan arrive unnoticed.
“We didn’t have decorations in the markets,” Muhyi Qdeih, 26, told The National. “So we made our own.”
The young Palestinian and his friends gathered discarded plastic bottles and transformed them into dozens of lanterns, hanging them with ropes between the tents. When they switched them on, children gathered beneath them, singing Ramadan songs. Adults took photos. For a brief evening, the camp glowed.
“None of us could afford to buy decorations,” he said. “But we wanted to bring joy with whatever we had.”
Before the war, Mr Qdeih lived in a large house in Khuza’a, east of Khan Younis. Every year before Ramadan, his family decorated the house and placed a large lantern in the garden that remained lit throughout the holy month. Those traditions vanished over the past two years, when Ramadan arrived under bombardment.
“There was no room for joy,” he says. “This year’s ceasefire gave us a small chance to feel something different.”
Across Gaza city, in the battered alleys of Al Zawiya Market, shopkeeper Mohammad Zein Al Din, 54, is also trying to revive what remains.
Items missing
Al Zawiya has long been the beating heart of Ramadan in Gaza, a place where families buy spices, sweets and staples for the month. But during the war, the market was heavily damaged. Dozens of shops disappeared; only a few remain.
“We hung decorations and reopened as best we could,” Mr Al Din told The National. “It feels like the market is trying to breathe again.”
He inherited his spice shop from his father more than 30 years ago. For him, reopening is not just business; it is defiance. But the customers are fewer. Many are displaced. Many have no income. Many come only to look.
“People’s economic situation is very difficult,” he says. “Most have lost their homes and jobs.”
Many traditional Ramadan items are missing from shelves due to Israeli restrictions on goods entering Gaza. The colours and aromas remain far thinner than they once were.
In Al Nasr neighbourhood, Amina Abu Hweishil, 41, who was displaced from Jabalia camp, walks through the streets noticing the decorations. She lost her son Mahmoud, his wife and two children in the war. Her home is gone, her husband lost his shop, and the family now lives in a tent.
“The pain is enormous,” she told The National. “But life must continue.”
This year, she bought small amounts of food for suhoor and iftar. Relatives abroad send money when they can, but it is only enough to support her family of eight.
“There is some Ramadan atmosphere,” she says. “People are trying. Even with all this destruction,” she added. “Gaza has always loved life and goodness, but what has happened is very hard”, Ms Abu Hweishil said.
